Indy finally graduated. From kindergarten. He stood up in front of the class and shook Miss Amanda’s hand and she gave him a diploma with balloons on it and a red mardi-gras necklace engraved with the words grad.
I told him that we would take him out to a fancy dinner to celebrate and that he could choose the place. He was quick to decide on La Carreta because it has unexpected flair. And drinks with umbrellas. And mariachi bands and mural walls and colored flags stretched across the ceiling. It is like being inside of a pinata explosion.
He dressed up in his blazer and gold sparkly flats and we got the booth next to the gigantic painted bull. We toasted to new chapters and new horizons and Indy was proud and I tried not to cry. Before we left, he thanked our server and asked him for a few additional drink umbrellas. I watched my baby walk underneath all the colored flags and past the mariachi band and out the door, and suddenly thought about the day he was born. And I remember holding him: the tiny being I had brought into the world, and I remember trying to imagine him as first-grader. And now he almost is, and everyday, I am reminded that all the moments that we wait so long for; all the moments that we think will never happen–they eventually come to pass.